Samantha Hopkins Part 2: The Consulting Detective's Protege
by Robin Janette
Summary: Sequel to Samantha Hopkins Part 1. Sherlock is back after being dead for three years, and Samantha joins him in London for a year-long internship. Everything is back to normal, except for one thing: why is Sherlock ignoring Molly Hooper? Eventual Sherlolly and established John/Mary. AU after Season 2, in place of Season 3.
1. Chapter 1: The News

Hey there! Here's the sequel to Samantha Hopkins Part 1. Read it first; this one'll make a lot more sense if you do.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Zilch. Nada.

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Samantha Hopkins was on her way back home when she started noticing something strange. As she crossed campus to get back to her car, people had been increasingly glued to their phones and congregated in small groups. People were whispering something about someone coming back. Samantha didn't pay much attention to them, as she had a bunch of notes to transcribe once she got home.

Samantha drove home, and 30 minutes later, was staring at the TV screen in shock. After nearly three years dead and reviled, Sherlock Holmes was back. He had faked his death and dismantled Moriarty's network, proving once and for all that Moriarty was truly the Consulting Criminal. Once the news program switched to something else, Samantha started to make herself dinner and got out her notes. No rest for the wicked, or college students. She was graduating in just a few weeks. She'd managed to graduate in just three years, since she been a part-time college student in high school. Graduation. She hadn't really thought about life after college, but she already had her house on the market and was poking around for job opportunities.

"I wonder if Sherlock's offer still stands?"


	2. Chapter 2: Preparations

Samantha tried to relax into the airplane's hard seat, but she was just too tense and nervous. Was she making the right choice? Was she crazy, like almost everyone else thought she was?

Samantha reflected on her hectic last month in college. In addition to graduating, she had sold her house and her car, packed up all her belongings, and shipped a bunch of boxes across the Pond to Britain. What she couldn't send overseas she stored in rental space back home. Three days after Sherlock's return, she had sent him an email inquiring as to whether Sherlock's offer for her to be his intern still stood. He had agreed to a year-long internship in London, and had even hooked her up with his landlady, who had a flat available downstairs in 221C. She and Mrs. Hudson had emailed a bit, and she seemed like a nice old lady. Samantha really didn't want to move in with Sherlock. For one, he didn't need help with rent, and two, John had scared her into another apartment.

John had gotten a hold of her email address soon after she and Sherlock made their deal, and kept sending her horror stories from living with Sherlock. In Sherlock's absence, he had moved out of 221B, but he wasn't going to be moving back in because of his new fiancée, Mary Morstan. They were set to be married in a few months, and John admonished Samantha to keep Sherlock in line at home. Like that was going to happen. Sherlock would be her superior in just a few days (she was flying in early to get settled in, plus she didn't have anywhere else to go), and she really didn't think her opinions would hold much sway with Sherlock. She wasn't looking forward to the body parts, shooting the wall, or other habits of Sherlock.

On the other hand, Samantha felt she was as prepared as she could be for this internship. She had been working out semi-seriously in college, running a few miles every day and practicing yoga. She hated strength and cardio, but in the line of work she wanted to go into, she didn't have much of a choice. She'd taken a few classes that had field trips to the morgue, and she wasn't afraid of blood or bodies. Heck, she had touched her parents' dead bodies, and it hadn't killed her.

Thoughts and insecurities kept Samantha awake during the night flight, which she really didn't appreciate in the morning. Her eyes were circled and her hair a bit messy as she got off the plane and heaved her two enormous suitcases and big backpack off the baggage carousel. After exchanging all her American money for pounds, Samantha took a cab to her new address, 221C Baker Street.


	3. Chapter 3: Arrival

Samantha lugged her bags up to the door at 221 and knocked. Mrs. Hudson opened the door a few seconds later, "Come in, dear! How was your flight?"

Samantha tried to smile as she lifted her suitcases up from the street, but she was pretty sure it came out wrong. "Fine. Didn't get any sleep though. I feel like the living dead."

"I've got the lease for you to sign right over here." Samantha set down her bags by the door and followed Mrs. Hudson to her kitchen table. After signing a few places, Samantha took the keys to her new apartment.

Mrs. Hudson followed her down the stairs as she drug down her bags. "Your boxes all came a few days ago. I got Sherlock to bring them down. And your furniture arrived too. Do you need help, Samantha? Sherlock'll be back soon, I'm sure. He could get those for you."

Samantha shook her head. "Nah, I'm good. I need the strength training." She descended the last few steps.

Mrs. Hudson smiled, "I'm sure you're tired. Just this once, I'll make us both some dinner." 221C had a kitchenette, so Samantha also didn't need access to Sherlock's notorious refrigerator.

"You don't have to do that, Mrs. Hudson."

"Please, call me Martha. And I don't mind. Kind of lonely when the boys are out, and now that John has Mary," she sighed, "Sherlock's hanging about more often than normal. Plays the violin a lot too." Mrs. Hudson looked over her shoulder, and leaned in, "I think he misses John more than he lets on."

Samantha dug in her backpack for the first of many lists she had compiled. OCD or not, Samantha liked organization and lists, and on a day like today when she couldn't keep her eyes open, she was glad she'd taken the time to make a first-day shopping list. "How about if you make dinner, I bring home desert?"

"That'd be lovely."

With that, Mrs. Hudson and Samantha walked up the stairs, and Samantha went out to get some breakfast foods for tomorrow and some kind of desert from a nearby grocery. Samantha grabbed some Ben and Jerry's from a freezer for desert. It was her favorite kind of ice cream, and American, which she thought was a bit fitting.

Samantha trudged home an hour later laden with a shopping bag of food. Using her new key, she unlocked the door and followed the smell of delicious food into Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. Samantha quickly put the ice cream in the freezer, and dug in.

Mrs. Hudson remarked, "I've not met many Americans. Well, I met some, but they weren't very nice."

"That's a shame. I should have gotten out my cowboy boots and hat for you."

"And your accent isn't as strong as I thought."

"At least British accents sound cool. Here, I just sound like a hick compared to the rest of you." Samantha smiled.

Mrs. Hudson laughed, and they started discussing their different vocabulary, and lightly argued about the proper names for things as they ate the ice cream. Mrs. Hudson really enjoyed it, but it made Samantha a bit homesick.

"That was wonderful, dear. We should do this again sometime."

"Next time, I'll make dinner." Samantha got up, and started to gather up the plates, but Mrs. Hudson stopped her.

"You've got enough to do, Samantha. I'll clean up."

"Thanks, Martha. Good night!"

"Good night."

Samantha walked down the stairs, and had just barely put sheets and a blanket on her new bed before crashing into oblivion.


	4. Chapter 4: Meeting Sherlock and John

The next morning, Samantha felt better, but she knew it would be a while before she fully regained the sleep she had lost. There was a reason, besides her grades, that she wasn't a fan of drunken college parties.

Samantha grabbed her travel shampoo and soap from her bag, and took a nice long shower. She felt a lot more confident in her choice now that it was done.

She ate some breakfast, dry cereal, and then set about unpacking everything. She had bought a bit of cheap build-your-own furniture off the Internet, and started to assemble it. First was a dresser for her clothes, which made up the contents of most of the boxes. With that finished, Samantha piled up the empty boxes in the living room, and started in on the last box. She took out a yoga mat, her plates and cutlery, and her books. She laid her mat on the floor, put the plates on the island, and arranged her books on the top of her drawers in her room. She didn't bring a lot of things from home because of the expense, but her small but worn book collection was a must. She smiled as she read the titles.

Samantha heard the door open and footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock was inspecting her living room. "Hey there Sherlock!"

Sherlock looked a bit older, but otherwise unchanged since they first met nearly three years ago. "Hello. I see you've moved in."

"Yep. I was just going to head out and get some more groceries. Is there something you need?"

"I had this for you to complete." Sherlock handed her an enormous envelope, and Samantha removed a stack of papers. She flipped to the last page, the last question numbered Question 100. Most of it was short answer. "Finish it by tomorrow."

"My gosh, you don't mess around." Samantha sat down as she flipped through. She didn't know a lot of the answers to questions like, "How can you tell if someone is from out of town?" and "List three signs someone is a kidnapper." Samantha looked up. "What if I don't know the answer?"

"Guess." With that, Sherlock went upstairs.

Samantha decided to start working on the quiz now, or else she might not be able to finish it later. She didn't want to be sloppy right off the bat.

Two hours later, she was just about a third of the way through her exam, and she had to guess on an awful lot of the questions. They didn't teach you seven ways to spot an adulterer in college classes, did they? Samantha was still optimistic. She was good at taking tests, and this was no different. She just needed to run out and stock up her fridge. At her current pace, she could fit in a grocery trip. Hopefully. She glanced at the questions ahead. They seemed to be getting harder. Crap.

Samantha heard a knock at her door. "Come in." Samantha looked up, and John was coming down the stairs. "Hey there."

John smiled. "How was your flight? Sherlock and I were out on a case yesterday."

"It was fine." Seeing John's gaze drop to her work, she handed him part of her stack. "Sherlock's keeping me busy with this."

He whistled. "That's something."

"Yeah. At least I have all day to spend on this. I'd be freaking out otherwise."

"How long did he give you to finish it?"

"It's 'due' tomorrow, and I'm around the 1/3rd mark."

John started to leave. "Well, if you've got all that to do, good luck."

Samantha got back to work.


	5. Chapter 5: Test

Samantha looked at her watch. 8 o'clock. She was finally done with Sherlock's pop quiz. With a grocery and lunch break at noon, she'd been working most of the day. She tiredly gathered up the pages and walked up the stairs, knocking on the door to 221B. "Sherlock, I'm done."

Sherlock opened the door and took the pages from her. "I thought I gave you until tomorrow."

"I finished it, so I figured I'd turn it in rather than sit on it. How will you grade it?"

Sherlock looked at her quizzically. "Grade it? I just wanted to see how far you'd be willing to accommodate my requests, and you passed that with flying colors."

"Let me get this straight, you didn't want to test my knowledge; you wanted to test my resolve?"

"They don't teach you anything useful at college, so I figured we'd have to start from the beginning. If you weren't willing to follow my instructions, you'd have a rather short internship."

Samantha sighed. "Yeah, they don't exactly teach you whether old women or young boys are more likely to use cyanide as a poison, do they? Will I have other tests like this? I'm beat."

Sherlock frowned. "No, that's the only one I had planned."

"Thank goodness. I thought it would never end. I'm gonna go to bed. 'Night, Sherlock."

Sherlock wished her a good night, and Samantha started to head back down to 221C, but stopped when she heard the music. Sherlock was playing his violin. From John's emails, his violin was the one trait Samantha didn't mind. She listened for a few minutes to Sherlock's mournful song, then went to bed.


	6. Chapter 6: The Art of Observation

The next day, Sherlock called Samantha up to 221B for her first lesson. "If you want to learn my methods, you must master two skills, those of observation and deduction. We'll start with observation."

"Sure. What do I observe?"

"Me. Tell me as much about me as possible from physical cues."

Samantha frowned. "Where should I start?"

"Start with physical characteristics, then draw explanations from there."

"Okay." Samantha circled Sherlock. "Your hair's been dyed recently. It has a reddish tint that shouldn't be there, so you've dyed it. Your roots are black, and guessing from that, you dyed it back to its original color after your return."

"Good. What else?"

"Can I see your hands?"

Sherlock held them out. "Your hands aren't calloused in the palms, so you don't do physical labor. Then again, you're wearing a suit, but still. You do, however, have several healed scrapes on your palms. Probably got them falling down while running." Sherlock smiled; evidently Samantha was doing well. "You also have slight marks at the fingertips because of your violin. That's all I can get from your hands."

"Anything else?"

"Um, not really. How'd I do?"

"Better than I expected."

Samantha smiled. "That's good, isn't it?"

"You still have a lot of work ahead, obviously. Let's move on to behavior. What can you deduce from my behavior?"

Samantha thought for a minute. "Deduce from personal experience or what I've heard?" She wasn't sure if Sherlock knew about John's emails.

"What have you heard, or more specifically, where have you heard it from? The media doesn't get very many things right.

Samantha decided to spill the beans. "John's been emailing me about you, and some of your habits."

Sherlock looked puzzled. "Why would he do that?"

"He was trying to help, and give me fair warning of what I'm getting into."

"What did he say?"

"You experiment with human flesh. In the apartment."

"Not recently." Sherlock hadn't experimented since his return.

"I thought 221B smelled better than before. You also keep odd hours and go for days without food or sleep if you're on a case. All that stuff supposedly slows you down."

"True. What can you gather about me from that?"

"You like to pursue knowledge, to the point of putting up with decaying flesh and all the fun stuff that entails." Samantha paused. "I really don't want to guess why you seem to enjoy being different from everyone else."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to assume anything, as I don't have enough information on your mental state or past to attempt to understand why you like to be different."

"I suppose that can wait for a later lesson."

"What's next?"

"John and Mary are coming over."

Samantha smiled, "How nice! I haven't met Mary yet. What's she like?"

Sherlock smirked as they heard the sound of the door being unlocked and opened. "You tell me."

"You want me to deduce her?" Samantha was shocked.

"Obviously. I texted her and John to come over this morning."

"Some warning would have been nice, you know."

John and Mary entered the room. Mary was a blond woman about the same age as John. Mary opened her mouth to speak, but Sherlock interrupted, "Don't say anything."

Samantha sighed; evidently John and Mary weren't in on Sherlock's pop quiz. John demanded, "What do you mean, Sherlock?"

Sherlock replied, "Samantha needs practice deducing strangers, and as she hasn't met Mary, I thought she would make good practice."

John was angry and exclaimed, "Sherlock, that's my girlfriend you're talking about!"

"And that's my intern!"

"And you can be cruel!"

Samantha sighed again and interposed, "John, I won't be like that."

John sighed and turned to Mary. "Alright, I'll leave it up to you. If you don't want to be deduced, then you're free to go."

Mary opened her mouth to acquiesce, but Sherlock silenced her with another look. She simply gave Samantha two thumbs up.

Samantha started to examine Mary, talking out loud. "You are wearing orthopedic shoes; you must work on your feet a lot. Can I see your hands?" Mary held them out. "Your hands are dry, even though it's summer. You work on your feet and you wash your hands a lot. I'd guess you're a doctor or a nurse, probably a nurse. Am I right?"

Mary nodded furiously.

Samantha circled Mary, trying to figure anything else out. After a minute, she gave up. "That's all I have."

Sherlock frowned. "It's a start. Work on it."

John cleared his throat and asked, "Mary and I were going to get some lunch, how about it?"

Samantha smiled, "Sure, John." Sherlock just pulled his skull off the mantelpiece, and sat down on the couch, studying it while ignoring the other three people in the room.

John sighed. "Let's be off, then."

Samantha had a lovely time getting to know Mary. She and John had met after Sherlock's death, and they were pretty serious. Mary was very kind, and Samantha was positive she and John would be very happy together. Samantha deduced that part of Sherlock's surliness was due to John's leaving 221B (and him) for Mary. Sherlock would have to get over it.


	7. Chapter 7: Crime Scene

Soon after meeting Mary, Sherlock took Samantha to her first crime scene. As they approached the yellow tape, Sherlock unexpectedly asked, "How good are you at affecting a British accent?"

"Not bad, why?"

"It would make this easier." Sherlock raised the yellow tape, but a black woman in a pantsuit blocked Samantha from entering.

"Who's this, freak?" It didn't take a genius to deduce that she and Sherlock didn't get along.

"My intern."

"Since when did you get an intern?" She looked skeptical.

Samantha spoke up, remembering her accent just in time. "Since he asked me."

Sherlock sighed. "If you insist in being obstructive, Donovan, then I'll get Lestrade."

"Fine, freak. Knock yourself out." Donovan crossed her arms in front of her chest. Samantha noted the clear defensive pose, but Donovan also intended to stand her ground. Sherlock walked off.

Donovan eyed Samantha as a man walked over from the crime scene. Donovan turned to him and said, "Freak's brought an intern." The man laughed.

"What's so odd about that?"

The man spoke, "Holmes doesn't have friends, much less interns. If you're his intern, then what did you do to deserve that?"

Samantha was starting to dislike Donovan and the man, whose name tag read "Anderson". "Like I said, he was the one who asked me."

Donovan asked, "And what does he get in return?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"You honestly think I'm having sex with Sherlock?"

Donovan and Anderson both rolled their eyes. Samantha pushed back her revulsion, and replied, "Sherlock asked me because he thought I'd make a good detective. I see he hasn't extended the same offer to either of you."

Samantha was relieved to see Sherlock and Lestrade walking up, "Anderson, Donovan, get back to work." Lestrade shook Samantha's hand as she walked under the tape.

Donovan asked, "You know her?"

"Yeah, Donovan. She was involved in a case just about three years ago, if memory serves." He addressed Samantha, "How've you been?" Donovan and Anderson stalked off, and the Detective Inspector led Samantha and Sherlock to the crime scene.

Samantha kept up the accent in her reply. "Good. I graduated just a month ago, and Sherlock offered an internship, and I took it."

Lestrade frowned. "I thought you were American."

Samantha glanced at Sherlock, but he was intent in examining the body of a man on the floor. "I am, but Sherlock said to use a British accent. Could you tell?"

"No, I couldn't tell. It really would make it easier for me letting you in if you pretend to be British than a foreigner. Thanks, Sherlock." Lestrade walked over to a nearby table and picked up two plastic bags. One held a black sheer scarf, the other a pair of enormous glasses. "Found these in the alley outside, the glasses all wrapped up in the scarf. No prints. We think the murderer dropped them on their way out."

"Samantha, what do you make of them?"

Samantha looked to Lestrade, who nodded, and took the scarf out of the bag. "It's a woman's scarf," she began, "I have one just like it, so it's a pretty common item. Nearly every woman would have something like it, as you can pair black with most colors." She looked at the glasses. "The glasses are more interesting; lenses that big went out of style decades ago. I doubt they're his," she gestured to the body, "because they're for an older person." She held them up to her eye level, and quickly put them back in the bag as the powerful prescription made her eyes water. "Definitely an older person. No one young has eyes that bad."

Sherlock smiled. "Good. I agree that the owner of that pair of glasses isn't the man lying dead. See this pencil?" Sherlock held out an ordinary wooden pencil for Samantha and Lestrade's inspection.

"What about it," asked Lestrade.

Sherlock lifted the dead man's hand. "This man was prone to worry; see the teeth marks on the pencil and the fingernails practically bitten to the quick? He chewed on things around him when he was nervous. And yet he didn't chew on the ends of those glasses. Besides, if that man wore glasses, he would have tell-tale indentations from their weight on his nose which are noticeably absent. Therefore, the murderer planted the glasses here, knowing that they wouldn't help identify the victims." Sherlock stood.

"Victims?" Lestrade looked confused.

"The killer was obviously killing a pair of people and switching their glasses. I would guess that this man's father or other older male relative is the second victim." Sherlock took out his phone and began searching for something.

Lestrade said, "I'll keep my eyes out, but I don't have much to go on."

"Give me a list of suspicious deaths in the past few days. I'll do my own research." Sherlock started to walk away, and Samantha went with him. Lestrade accompanied them to the yellow tape border, and Sherlock and Samantha took a cab home.


	8. Chapter 8: Meeting Mycroft

As soon as Sherlock and Samantha got back home, Sherlock threw himself onto the couch, delving deep into his mind palace without another word. Knowing Sherlock, he wouldn't need her for a while. Samantha descended to 221C and dressed for bed. Several hours later, Samantha was rudely awakened by shouting upstairs. Blocking the noise with her best earphones didn't work, so half-asleep, she sat up, shoved her feet into slippers, and trudged up the stairs to the source of the noise. Samantha registered Sherlock's voice as well as a stranger's as she got closer. Opening the door, she blinked at the sudden light. "Can you keep it down? I'm trying to sleep." As her eyes began to adjust, she felt a bit underdressed; both men were looking impeccable in suits, and she wore sweats with ratty hair. Both men were standing facing each other like they were trying to intimidate each other. They broke apart; Sherlock slammed down on the couch while the stranger turned to assess Samantha. His probing gaze was just as strong as Sherlock's.

"Really, Sherlock? An American? I thought you had better taste than that." His voice dripped condescension.

Samantha leaned against the door as Sherlock replied, "My choice of interns doesn't concern you, Mycroft. None of this does." His voice was cold and hard, much calmer than before.

"I beg to differ." Mycroft turned to Samantha. "I'll be leaving soon, don't you worry, my dear." His smile was icy and it didn't reach his eyes. He turned back to where Sherlock was scowling on the couch. "You haven't changed after your return, except when it comes to her. Textbook. Did you really think no one would notice? I would keep your heart better hidden, if I were you." Mycroft strode past Samantha out of 221B.

Sherlock got up and headed for his bedroom door, ignoring Samantha, who headed back downstairs, unsure of what she just witnessed. As soon as she left, Sherlock sighed. He had to move on.

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The next day, Samantha got up at her normal time and grabbed a towel and some clothes, but dropped everything as she found Sherlock sitting at her table lost in thought. He looked up. "Forget what you heard."

Samantha began to pick up her clothes. "Don't worry; I don't remember much from last night, and what I do remember doesn't make much sense. Why would your brother care if you're neglecting some woman?"

Sherlock started. "How did you know he was my brother? Your powers of observation are improving."

"You were acting like the younger brother being told out by his older brother. Plus, I didn't think anyone else could be as blunt and snarky as you."

Sherlock waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. Shower and get dressed; I know the identity of the second victim." Samantha hurried to do as he said.


	9. Chapter 9: Meeting Molly

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry for not updating sooner! First I had finals, then the holidays, then a play (The Fantasticks - I'm playing Luisa!), and just didn't have time. Excuses, excuses. Anyways, I thank you for your patience, and bring you my favorite chapter yet: The introduction of -olly in Sherlolly!**

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Sherlock explained everything during the cab ride over to John and Samantha; John had joined them as they were leaving. "The second victim was Henry Clarke, business tycoon. Died two days ago."

John inquired, "Isn't that the man who died from a gunshot, poison, and a heart attack? The papers have been calling him the "Triple Murdered"."

Sherlock smirked, "In a manner of speaking. He was shot, non-fatally, in the shoulder, but he died of a heart attack. His autopsy also revealed that he has also been poisoned for quite some time, which weakened his heart as well as damaged his vision. The real question is why his glasses were found wrapped in a woman's scarf at the site of his son's murder."

Samantha considered the problem. "The son's identity has been confirmed?"

Sherlock nodded. "I texted Lestrade as soon as I realized the connection, and Henry Clarke's widow has identified him as William Clarke."

They arrived, and headed up to Clarke's home. Sherlock knocked on the white front door, and a woman opened the door. Her graying hair was tucked into a bun, and her eyes were oddly dull as she spoke in a prim voice, "We're not taking any interviews at the moment."

"We're not reporters. My associates and I are investigating Henry and William Clarke's murders. May we speak to you and Mrs. Clarke?" Sherlock smiled slightly.

The woman introduced herself as Henry Clarke's secretary Sarah Benton as she let them inside and directed them to a clean and bright living room. "I'll fetch Mrs. Clarke." After a few minutes wait, she returned with a woman with equally grey hair, but tall and fit with a sad smile on her face. They all took their seats.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," she began, "I was in the greenhouse replanting my begonias. My fondness for gardening is helping me through this difficult time."

As Ms. Benton began to leave the room, Sherlock held up a hand and said, "A minute, Ms. Benton. I would like to speak to you while John and Samantha talk to your employer. May we speak in private?"

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes." She led Sherlock out into the hall.

Left alone, Samantha began to ask Mrs. Clarke some questions. "Where were you when your husband was shot?"

"Out in the greenhouse, and no one but Will and Sarah were around. Both said that they hadn't heard the shot, it's a big house, and the walls are rather thick."

"Do you know why anyone would make attempts on Henry's life?"

"He was a businessman, so I guess he might have some enemies there, but he wasn't a horrible man. At least not to me." Mrs. Clarke's mouth twisted into a pained smile.

Just as Samantha was about to ask another question, Sherlock and Ms. Benton reentered the room. "I believe we have all we need." Samantha and John were left to thank Mrs. Clarke and Ms. Benton as Sherlock strode out of the house.

As Sherlock hailed a taxi, John said, "What was that about, Sherlock? You barely had time to talk to her."

Sherlock told the cabbie who drove up to go to 221B Baker Street, and answered, "I didn't need to talk to her. I needed to see her office."

"Her office?"

Sherlock sighed. "Yes. We need to determine the identities of two people: the poisoner and the shooter. Both people would need to be close to the family so,"

Samantha interrupted, "Couldn't one person have both poisoned and shot Clarke?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and replied, "One is an act of careful planning and the other an act of passion. The shooter was so inexperienced or emotional that he failed to deliver a kill shot. As the poisoner had been at work for a much longer time, it doesn't make sense for someone to slowly poison someone and then throw away all that time and effort by failing to kill the target. There have to be two killers, and a relatively small pool of people to pick from, namely his widow, his son, and his secretary. Thus far, I would say that the son is most likely to be the shooter, as it would explain his untimely death. All three have weak alibis, as all were in the house or grounds and alone when the shot was fired. I think it highly likely for the poisoner to have killed the shooter."

"Hold on, where does the secretary's office come into play?"

"I wanted to determine if she was really as dull as she appeared. Her office is full of books from various disciplines far above the station of a secretary."

Sherlock receded into his Mind Palace after that, leaving Samantha and John sitting in silence. Samantha had early discovered the wrath of Sherlock when he was interrupted while in his mind palace. They soon arrived, and a shake from John was enough to wake Sherlock from his reverie. Leaving John to pay for the cab, he went inside and fell on the couch, again engrossed in his mind. Samantha invited John downstairs, but he had to go get Mary for a lunch date with her and Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson had been anxious to make Mary's acquaintance, and they all went out now and then.

As Samantha got out the ingredients for a chicken salad, Sherlock yelled from upstairs, and she shoved everything into the fridge as she yelled back, "Coming!"

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, glaring angrily at his microscope. Samantha walked over as Sherlock said, "I need my better microscope; this one's not detailed enough." He grabbed a piece of scrap paper lying around and scribbled down an address and room number. "Retrieve my microscope from here. One of the lab assistants should be able to tell you which one." He held out the paper, and Samantha walked down the stairs, grabbed her bag, and set off for St. Bart's hospital.

She took a cab to the address given, and recognized the building in front of her as the building Sherlock had jumped off from. She had seen quite a lot of news footage, and walked through the doors. Using the directory, she decided that lab 550 must be on the fifth floor, and took an elevator up to floor 5. Unfortunately, when she got up there, the rooms all started with 6, and in short order, got herself very lost. She walked past the canteen at least three times, all while trying to find the lab, that she was on the brink of swallowing her pride and calling Sherlock for directions when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Samantha turned to find a short brunette woman looking at her quizzically. The woman said, "You look lost. Need help finding someone?"

Samantha smiled. "Something, actually. I need to get a microscope for someone from one of the labs, but I can't find 550, and I don't know which microscope."

The woman looked even more puzzled. "Whose microscope?"

"Sherlock Holmes'."

At the name, a look of pain crossed the woman's face and disappeared again, so quickly that Samantha wasn't sure she had seen it. "Oh. It's this way." The woman led Samantha down a flight of stairs and down a hallway. "I studied here, and it's really easy to get lost." Samantha's interest was piqued by the woman.

"Do you know Sherlock?"

"I was his pathologist before he fell, and I worked with him a lot." She turned and held out her hand. "Dr. Molly Hooper." Samantha shook it and replied, "Samantha Hopkins, Sherlock's intern."

They turned a corner and continued walking. "When did Sherlock get an intern?"

"We met a few years ago, before the Fall, and he helped me solve my case. He offered an internship then, but I declined at the time. I'm jut finishing my second week."

"You sound American."

"I am. I hail from the Midwest. My first case was when my family and I were in London on business."

Molly directed Samantha into a lab, and walked over to a nearby closet and took out a big black case. She pointed to one of the microscopes, and Samantha brought it over. Molly snapped the case shut and handed the heavy article to Samantha. Molly looked around nervously. "What's Sherlock been up to recently?"

Samantha studied the woman in front of her, and chose her words carefully, "He's been working a few cases, mostly with Lestrade."

"Oh."

"Thanks for your help. I was getting pretty desperate back there. I was always bad at finding stuff."

"It was my pleasure." Molly glanced at her watch. "I've got to get back down to the morgue; I have an autopsy to do. The Triple Murdered fellow is downstairs."

Samantha replied, "Sherlock's working on the case now. Could I observe?"

Molly brightened. "Sure! So long as you're not afraid of dead bodies."

"I'm good. I had to pay a few visits to morgues in college."

Molly led Samantha down a few floors to the morgue, and after a few hours, Samantha left with a copy of the autopsy report and the microscope case. As she took a cab back to 221, she considered Molly Hooper, and decided to use her new-found powers of observation to make a few deductions. She got indoors and lugged the heavy case upstairs, the papers stuffed in her bag. John and Sherlock were upstairs, and Samantha could make out Mary and Mrs. Hudson's laughter from downstairs.

Taking a deep breath, Samantha entered the room, and Sherlock jumped up. "What took you so long?"

"It took me a while to find the lab. Take a look at it."

Sherlock opened the case and took out the microscope. His eyes widened momentarily as he placed it on the table next to the other one.

Sherlock looked at Samantha, whose eyes told him that she knew about Molly. Her arms were crossed, judgmental. She didn't approve.

"Even so, it couldn't have taken you the entire afternoon. And you haven't done any other shopping or outings, as you had a heavy case with you. What delayed you?"

"I observed an autopsy. The one done on Henry Clarke. A lot of interesting things."

"Did you take notes?"

"No."

Sherlock sighed in frustration. "Did you bring me a copy of the report?"

"No. I forgot to ask."

Sherlock got up and put on his coat and scarf. John finally broke in and asked, "What's going on?"

Sherlock smiled a sad smile and replied, "Samantha will tell you, I bet." With that, he left 221 B.


End file.
